


You can't buy happiness. But you can buy donuts, and that's kind of the same thing.

by StripedGriffin (mkdanielle)



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Feels, Fluff, Lots of sugar was consumed in the making of this fic, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Phil loves donuts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 23:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10932447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkdanielle/pseuds/StripedGriffin
Summary: Phil needs some help loosening up. Donuts are just the ticket.





	You can't buy happiness. But you can buy donuts, and that's kind of the same thing.

**Author's Note:**

> The image suddenly popped into my head of Phil, having to eat a giant donut with sprinkles. Story ensued. If you find errors, let me know, as this is un-betad.

The line in front of Phil inched forward and he wondered, again, why he felt the inescapable need to uphold his Sunday morning tradition of coffee from this shop. He had a perfectly good coffee maker at home. It made perfectly good coffee, there, in the comfort of his apartment, where he could drink it without having to change out of his sweatpants. Why, then, must he feel compelled to travel down to the end of the block, stand in line, pay money --just for a cup of the same thing he could make at home?

The teenager in front of him reeled off her order, which took what felt like ten minutes. To order one drink. In the end, Phil wasn't sure that any drink buried under that many different flavours, creams, and caveats could actually still be classified as "coffee." He smirked as he recalled why, exactly, he always got his Sunday morning coffee (actual, plain coffee) here.

This coffee shop was a way to sink back into this city, this place when he was home. He would come here, get a cup of coffee, sit at the table in the corner, and drink it, watching the carefree people flowing in and out and resting in the knowledge that he had done something to contribute to their safety. To the safety of the world. That the dedicated, chaotic life he lived led to a world in which people could go to coffee shops on Sunday morning and could order ridiculous drinks.

Sometimes he felt like he could hardly breathe under the pressure of being "Agent," of being inscrutable, of maintaining the impermeable persona of a respected, unquestioned senior agent. Sometimes he felt like he was disappearing into the work he loved so much, into the person he had to be. Sometimes he wondered if he even knew how to be anyone else anymore. So he sat here every Sunday, drank his coffee, and watched the people who were free to be people. It made him feel a bit better.

When he reached the front of the line, Allison, the barista who always worked Sundays, flashed a smile at him as she got his usual order going. He was turning toward the end of the counter to wait when she stopped him.

  
"Someone bought this for you. They came in earlier and told me to give it to you when you came in." She handed him a donut. But not just any donut, no. Phil's eyebrows rose as he stared at the monstrosity in front of him. This donut was almost hidden underneath chocolate icing and _sprinkles._ Bright, obnoxious sprinkles. In a daze, he gathered up his coffee and The Donut, and wandered over to his table.

He set The Donut down and looked at it some more, trying to figure out the best way to approach it in a dignified manner. Finally, he shrugged, lifted it to his mouth, and dove in. It was way too sweet to be any good, really. He took another bite. Honestly, what self-respecting person above the age of ten eats a donut like this? Another bite. Who on earth would buy him this? Who would look at Phil Coulson and think 'now he would just love a giant chocolate iced donut with sprinkles'? Who?? Really. Ridiculous.

Suddenly he realized that the donut was gone. He had not only consumed the whole thing, but also licked his fingers clean of icing. Sheepishly, he glanced around, but no one seemed to notice that this perfectly respectable middle aged man had just scarfed an entire donut with about a gallon of icing. Well good. That would have been embarrassing.

********

"Alright. Any questions?" Phil concluded the mission briefing. "Barton. What do you have to ask that you did not yet ask in your previous twenty-eight questions?"

"You know you love it, sir." Clint smirked, bouncing in his chair a little.

The thing is, he was right. Phil _hated_ briefing teams that didn't ask questions, because if nobody was asking questions then nobody was thinking deeply enough about the mission.

And, honestly, Barton's questions were more than just assurance that someone was thinking. The guy somehow managed to perfectly combine single-minded dedication to the mission and a hilarious determination to enjoy his job. It might appear, actually, that he was a bit insubordinate and possibly a liability, but Phil had discovered early on that, on the contrary, Barton was pretty much the best asset he had. He thought on his own and had very good judgment, but contrary to how he might come across, he was very loyal. And he was funny. Phil had never enjoyed missions as much as the ones he had with Barton. Missions with Barton... Almost made him feel like wasn't confined to being Agent. Like he could be a human. Like--

"Sir?" Phil shook himself and met Barton's curious gaze.  
"Yes, Specialist Barton. What is your question?"  
"Can we stop at MacDonald's on the way out? I could really use a cheeseburger." Clint grinned.

Phil groaned.  
*****

This was getting absurd, really. Four weeks in a row, along with his Sunday morning coffee, he had been given a ridiculous donut that some mysterious benefactor had paid for. And, evidently, selected-- he had inquired as to whether it had to be _that specific donut_  and the answer had of course been yes. They were different each week. Aside from the initial chocolate-with-sprinkles, there had been an iced, jelly filled horror (that had managed to squirt jelly all over his fingers), a huge bear claw (slightly more dignified and quite delicious), and this one he was staring at, which was--

"Pink." Phil startled at Barton's voice as the specialist slid in across from him.  
"I beg pardon?"  
"Pink. It's pink, Sir. That donut is covered in pink icing. You seemed like you were wondering." Barton grinned.  
"I realize that, Barton. The question is--why?"  
"Sir?"  
"Why is it pink?"  
"Um... Probably has food dye in it. Terrible stuff, you know, food dye. Very bad for you, I hear."  
Phil glared.  
"Every week, for the past month, when I come in here, there is a new form of Donut Torture waiting for me, paid for, and I can't figure it out, and it's driving me crazy, Barton! Crazy!"  
"Wow, Boss. I wasn't sure anything was actually capable of that." Barton cocked his head. "You always seem so.... Agenty."

Phil resumed the glare that had somehow slipped from his face.  
"Well, Agent Coulson, sir." Barton continued.  
"Maybe somebody thought you would enjoy being driven crazy." He waggled his eyebrows, and Phil rolled his eyes.

"Besides... You don't seem too upset about it." Barton smirked, nodding toward the last bit of pink icing that clung to Phil's fingers. When had he eaten the whole donut? And this time, with someone to see him! He frowned at the offending icing, considered his napkin, then shrugged and licked it off. _"Agenty". Hmph._ He glanced up and intercepted a strange look on Barton's face, but as soon as their eyes met, Barton's face went blank.

"You didn't even share." He pouted.  
"I'm a very selfish man." Phil deadpanned.  
"Indeed you are, sir" Barton's serious face couldn't hide the twitching corners of his lips. "Very selfish." A second later, his eyebrow rose and Phil realized he had been staring.

"I have to get back to the office. Reports to file, even on Sunday. In fact, I'm pretty sure you have one due."  
Barton groaned.  
"I forgot about that report. I'll walk back with you and get started on it. Oh! Did I tell you I saw a red-tailed hawk on this last mission? Not really a place to put that on the report, sir, but I suppose I can always add my bird-watching information to an addendum. I know you'd hate to not hear about it."

He rose and fell into step beside Phil, chattering away about the various birds he had spotted on the last missions. Phil didn't mind as much he thought he probably should, even when Barton followed him all the way back to his office and perched on his couch, filling out reports and talking at the same time. It was actually kind of....Nice. Huh.

********

Phil had thought about using the considerable resources at his disposal to find out who his mystery donut donor was, but it had just never seemed... Right. Clint-- When had he started thinking of him as Clint? -- had a point. He did actually enjoy them, ridiculous as they were. He enjoyed the anticipation of finding out what disastrous confection his mysterious friend had decided he needed this week. And, he finally admitted to himself, he actually enjoyed eating them.

"That was very impressive, sir." Phil's head jerked up as Clint leaned his hip against the table, grinning at him, his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. Phil valiantly fought down a blush.

"What was?" He feigned ignorance.  
"That may have been the world record for Giant Donut Eating, right there. You have to let me time you next week. What color icing do you think you eat the fastest?"

Phil huffed and licked icing off his finger, trying to hide his smile.  
"I don't even think they sell this thing here. This person has to be either special ordering them, or bringing them in from somewhere else. Where do they even find these things?" He glanced back up at Clint when the silence went on a split second longer than he had come to expect from the talkative agent. Was Clint staring at his lips? Clint's eyes met his quickly.

"Sorry... Um. You have. Um... Icing. Sir." Clint gestured vaguely at Phil's face, and Phil licked his lips. Clint's ears were definitely pink.

Very interesting.

*******

Clint wished Natasha hadn't snapped him out of Loki's mind control. He wished she had just shot him. Or left him. Left him locked up in his own head, forever, never to be in control of his own mind again, never to understand what had happened, never to know the aftermath of that battle, never to know....

Phil was dead.

Phil, who was so intent on being the best agent he possibly could, who had all the junior agents in complete awe.  
Phil, who had dismantled bombs with paper clips and gunned down whole armies and infiltrated terrorist groups and had never died of any of those things, not even once.  
Phil, who had worked so hard to be exactly who he was supposed to be that he had almost forgotten who he was, but he hadn't, not really, he was still a person, a whole, warm, crazy, brave, incredible person who had let Clint sit on his couch and had nodded as he rambled about birds and had laughed at what every other handler had termed "insubordination" and who had sat there and smiled and laughed and looked at Clint and seen HIM and not a highschool dropout loser or an assassin or a loose canon and... Phil. Who had eaten those ridiculous donuts, and had loved them. Clint had started making sure they had ever more amazing amounts of icing on them just so Phil would have to lick his fingers that adorable way, and.... He was gone.

Clint had never even told him how much he meant to him. It had never seemed to be the right time, and he hadn't wanted to put into jeopardy the friendship they had built. He had never told him about the donuts. He wondered if Phil had ever guessed. Phil was pretty smart. Phil was gone.

Clint curled tighter against the back of the lumpy couch.

"Go. Get out of here. Get out of your head." Clint didn't even open his eyes as he slowly raised one hand and flipped Natasha off.

"Yeah, real mature, Clint. Go get a cup of coffee or something. Really. You need to get out of here. You haven't left for days."

"Why should I leave? Everyone keeps telling me to get through all these psych evals and that then I'll be granted another access level or something. Why? Why would I want to do that? Why can't I just lay here and be left alone?"

"Go."  
Clint groaned when Natasha pulled, prodded and poked him up off the couch and to the door.

"Fine. Fine, stop, I'm going!" He shrugged his jacket on, and slammed the door behind him.

He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, and when he found himself in line at the coffee shop Phil always used go to, he almost turned around and went right back outside. But before he could make himself move, he was at the front of the line.

"Hey, haven't seen you for a while! Your usual?" Clint nodded at the barista, not meeting her eyes. What was her name? He used to know her name. Had Loki's mind control messed with his memory?  
He had turned to wait for his coffee when she caught his attention again. Allison, that was her name. Was he relieved that his head was intact? It felt like lifetimes since last Sunday, when he was here with--  
"Someone bought this for you."

For a long moment Clint stared at the hugest, most brightly colored donut he had ever seen in his life.

"Are you going to take it?" Allison smiled softly, as though she knew about the acrobatics his stomach was performing.

"Yeah. Yeah I am."

Clint was suddenly very glad Natasha had snapped him out of Loki's mind control. Maybe that access level was worth getting after all. 


End file.
